Of Pawns and Other Pieces
by justonemoreartist
Summary: A chess game between father and daughter that illustrates just how helpless a king can be. Contains no pairings.


**Author's Note:** Sat on these few one-shots here for a while because I had posted them elsewhere. Also in light of my recent graduation I probably won't have too much time to do more than slowly work on "Solving the Girlfriend Problem", so I hope these tide you over. I do have a bunch of other fics planned, but not enough time to work on them right now.

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**Of Pawns and Other Pieces**

He rapped on her door lightly, so as not to startle her, and waited until he heard the pitter-patter of small shoes against the floor before he called, "Elsa, it's your father. May I come in?"

There was a long pause, during which he closed his eyes and stood there patiently in his simple clothes, a red shirt and pair of blue pants, his usual dressy attire abandoned for this occasion. Elsa had once remarked that she preferred it when Daddy looked like himself instead of the king, but few and far between were the moments when he could hang up his stiff jacket with all its medals and place his crown upon its pillow and just be a man, and not a monarch.

The door cracked open, and she examined him with one suspicious eye. He tried not to sigh when her gaze darted around him before she pulled open the door. He stepped through, carrying the small box under his arm, and she regarded it curiously, though her interest did not keep her from shutting the door tight and locking it the moment he entered.

She turned around and wrung her hands together as she watched him. He wasn't sure if she was even aware she was doing it: when she was younger, she had always fiddled with her hands, but usually it was more snapping her fingers and tapping them against tables and desks, a habit that was equally endearing and annoying, depending on the time of day. Now, though, her gloves looked worn and frayed on account of all the abuse they suffered, and he knew he'd have to gift her another pair soon.

But then that was hardly the right word to use.

He lifted the box and shook it lightly, the pieces rattling against the wood. "I brought you one of your birthday presents: I thought we could play with it together, all right?"

She glanced at the box and then up at her father, who felt his heart clench at the sight of her disinterested gaze. On _his_ 10th birthday, he'd spent the entire day with his own father, learning how to carve wood with the pocketknife he'd received, and he'd spent many long hours whittling away at a small object, scraping the wood away until he had a fox, or a squirrel, or a bird. His first gift to Idunn still sat on her desk, a brilliantly plumed swan with a delicately arched neck, the edges smoothed from all the times she'd held it.

Elsa's birthday had been a quiet breakfast, set far too early for Anna to be awake yet, followed by a small gathering of a few servants and her parents around a mountain of presents that she had to be cajoled into opening, her hands slow when they gently pulled the wrappings apart. She had flinched at the sound of the paper tearing. Then the ever-present knocking had begun, and Elsa had cried silently in the corner while Idunn stepped outside and surprised her younger daughter with "a whole day together, and won't that be special?"

The servants, the ever faithful, if disapproving, Kai and Gerda, had cleared the mess away, since it bothered Elsa so. Agar had left with them, having been called away on a matter that could not be ignored. When he returned, he did so with the only gift Elsa had shown even some passing interest in: the hand-carved chess set made of gleaming white and black marble, heavy with the weight of tradition and history.

She shrugged, which was the best he was probably going to get, and he obligingly set the box down on the desk as she pulled up two chairs, one large and the other small, plopping down into the smaller one as she watched him ready the board.

He arranged the rooks first, followed by the knights, bishops, and then the king and queen, adjusting them so that they faced each other over the battlefield of alternating squares. The pawns came next in a pair of long rows, the first line of defense or attack. He sat down, tugging the chair closer to the desk, and she carefully moved back so that their knees no longer touched.

"Which one goes first?" Elsa asked softly. "I forget," she added, when he looked at her in surprise. It had been a while, hadn't it? "Ah, it's white that goes first. Would you like to be white? You'd get to go first, and how exciting is that?"

She looked away. "Anna likes to go first." Her voice was whisper soft.

He sighed under his breath and tried again. "Isn't it your favorite color?" he asked, trying to entice her. Her eyes dimmed.

"My favorite color is green," she said, dully, and he swallowed, glancing down at the pieces, arranged innocently on the board. Rows of pawns stood stiffly in front of the taller pieces like a crowd witnessing a murder. It always came back to this, didn't it? No matter how hard he and Idunn tried to distract her, to comfort her, to tell her that they loved her dearly and everything would be all right, she would just look at them with this fractured look in her eyes and their words would dry up like dust.

"No green, sorry, just white and black." She nodded in response and looked between the two camps before slowly turning the board so that the black pieces were on her side.

"Let's see if we can start this off right," he said, and advanced one of his pawns two steps. Elsa propped up her cheek in one hand as she considered his choice, and he concealed a small smile at how cautious she was being: a single move wasn't much to go on, and yet his older daughter was utterly silent as she thought, and so he waited for her.

She sent one of her own pawns forward two spaces, holding onto it for several long moments before tentatively putting it down on its own square.

He moved a knight out from behind his row of pawns and Elsa tilted her head, intrigued. It occurred to him that the last time they'd played chess Anna had demanded that all the pawns get to go first because to do anything else was rude, and Elsa had immediately obeyed her younger sister's demand, completely disregarding her normal cautiousness in the face of Anna's boldness. Elsa had still been learning the rules at that point, while Anna had been more interested in playing with Elsa's feet under the table, making her squirm and giggle.

She didn't ask, just copied him, glancing up and smiling shyly at his encouraging look. This time she set the piece down much more firmly, and he nodded approvingly. "Good move."

He maneuvered his knight around and, in a fit of capriciousness, whinnied and wiggled the piece around like it was a real horse, and grinned when Elsa bit her lip, a small snicker leaking through her lips anyways. "Uh oh, looks like I've lost control of my pieces: I think you're going to win."

"It's not anywhere near over yet," she said, and pushed a pawn forward one space.

"True," he admitted, and did the same. He had no plan in mind: in truth, he was more interested in seeing what she would do. For now, her brow was furrowed as she perused the board, thinking through the moves he'd made, and she surprised him by taking one of his pawns with her knight: he hadn't even noticed it was in danger.

The phrase "first blood!" was on his lips before he bit his tongue so hard a coppery taste swirled in his mouth. He licked his lips. "Good job, Elsa," he said instead, and she beamed at him, cradling the fallen pawn in her small hand. She offered it to him, and he set it to the side, where it stood, alone and small on the desk.

Their game proceeded in the same manner, with Agar making unplanned, random moves and Elsa thinking hers through, he becoming increasingly fascinated while she grew bolder, her moves sloppier, more aggressive, but there was something beautiful about it. He could almost see her coming out of her shell, and reveled in the sight.

She grinned up at him mischievously when he moved his bishop to the side, her body quivering with excitement. He watched her as her gaze darted back to the board, clearly eager for him to let go, and he did so slowly.

As soon as his fingertips released the piece, she grabbed her queen and shoved it forward with a "gotcha!" She shoved the bishop aside with such force that it skidded to the edge of the board and over the side of the desk. There was a sickening crack when the marble broke on the floor.

Elsa gasped in horror and jumped up, the pieces rattling on the board, and her eyes quickly filled with tears. "I didn't, I didn't mean it, I-!" Her gloves hissed and crackled as the ice trickled up her arms and began to freeze them, and Agar hurriedly stood, moving toward her with his arms outstretched, saying "Elsa, wait, it's-"

"Get AWAY!" she screamed, clenching her hands into trembling fists, "I can't…I can't stop it, and you need to leave!"

"No," he said, but the word came out so softly he had to swallow a few times before he could speak again. "No, I'm not leaving." He wrapped his hands around her much smaller ones, and flinched when his palms prickled with the cold, the ache settling into his fingers and wrists, creeping up his arms as she shivered and sobbed. "Elsa, please, look at me." He caught and held her watery gaze, her sky blue eyes tinged with red and shot through with pain, and he held her hands more tightly, trying to convey to her that no matter what happened, he was always there, would always be there.

Her lips trembled, and for a moment her arms came up, as though she was going to embrace him, and he released her hands in a wild hope.

She drew them to her stomach and hugged herself, her head drooping, and he could do nothing but watch powerlessly as she drew herself within, to the only place she considered safe.

"Elsa, I'm…" He inhaled, exhaled, and then gently lowered his hands to his sides. She made no sign that she'd noticed, and his shoulders slumped; even without his medals, his chest felt so very heavy.

They stood there in the late afternoon sun, a man and a girl, a father and a daughter, together, and yet so permanently alone.


End file.
